Title: Rejuvenation
By: Kilrez
Pairings: gen
Rating: PG
A/N: To give y'all an indication of how much I love Zabrak Prophet, my beta- I originally spelt the title of this story wrong. Yeah, that's right. All praise to her.
Summary: Medicine for your average immortal can be remarkably simple. Jack makes a rather eloquent point. With a pistol.

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Jack clenched his jaw and tried not to scream. He panted heavily through his nose, unable to see through the brilliant flashing darkness that was his vision. His ears rang, his nerves sang, and his world narrowed down to an incredibly broad point of pain.

It took what felt like 5 minutes, but was probably more like thirty seconds for it to subside enough for him to be able to register his environment. Sitting on the ground. Hard ground. Cold. Two sets of fingers clamped either side of his thigh. His own. Oh.

People registered next, even as he realized some of his light-headedness was from hyperventilating. He tried to hold his breath, which resulted in intermittent bursts of violent panting, followed by lung straining stillness. Gwen was refusing to look at him, busy trying not to be sick. Owen was creeping up on him slowly, like a vet towards a wounded animal.

'Just sit still Jack. I'll see what I can do. The bones are sticking out, but on the plus side, it's a clean break.' He was trying to be mildly humorous. It really didn't register. Jack waited. He'd been injured more times than he cared to count. The violent pain was always followed by a more bearable grace period, in which it was an excellent idea to seek treatment, even if that did involve dragging yourself 19 kilometers through low scrub, on your belly. Ah, memories. He grit his teeth and tried to breathe.

Here it came- the endorphins. It now merely hurt like an amputation without anesthetic. As opposed to having your mind and every nerve ending in the full blast of an oxy-acetylene flame.

'Come near me, and I'll hurt you,' he told Owen thickly.

'Jack, I've got to take a look at that. The risk of infection is massive, and that's just the start of your problems.' He'd never heard Owen speaking so calmly and gently. He became a professional when the circumstances dictated.

'Why isn't it just healing?' asked Gwen, mind apparently finally triumphing over her gastro-intestinal tract.

'Not fatal,' panted Jack, still gripping his thigh for all it was worth, like he could get a handle on the pain. Oh, how there were times when he longed for the 32nd century and beyond. Instant dermal regenerators. They were the ticket.

Owen was creeping forwards again. Eyes unable to focus properly, Jack nevertheless trained a bloodshot gaze on him and purposefully drew his pistol.

'Whoa, steady there,' yelped Owen, jumping back. The barrel waved back and forth a little, but was definitely aimed in his general direction.

'Jack!' Gwen squeaked.

Jack rolled his eyes at both of them, then carefully pressed the gun under his chin. It was sharply cold. Trying to ignore a very strong human instinct that was intentionally draining all feeling out of his fingers in denial of him willingly doing this, he pulled the trigger. Everything became very suddenly black.

…

Jack gasped, gulping in air and sitting bolt upright with a jerk. He felt warmth creeping back into him, a sensation that was getting way too familiar. Living bodies didn't respond well to being corpse temperature.

After that… pain is a feeling rarely noticed in its absence, but notice its absence he did. It lasted for a few minutes- a sense of anti-pain. Like a weird type of warm fuzziness.

The third sensation he noticed, following body-warmth and anti-pain, was conversely, coldness. On his backside. He was no longer sitting in the dirt, but on a familiar metal exam table. All this took less than a second, whilst he was still in his post-jolt freeze.

'Jack,' said Owen dryly. He was standing right next to Jack's elbow. Jack blinked at him, consciously relaxing. Funny how waking up was more of a shock than dying.

'Dr. Harper. How we going?'

'Well, it worked. Broken leg healed up a treat. Please don't do that again without warning.'

Jack grinned and swung his legs down off the table, mentally filing away the question of who exactly had gotten him into his hospital gown. 'How long's it been?' he asked Owen mildly, as he walked over to his pile of neatly folded clothes. Fresh ones, free of blood.

'Three hours,' muttered Owen, consulting a clipboard. 'I could possibly open up a whole new branch of medicine you know.'

'I'd rather you didn't,' replied Jack as he began to get dressed.

'I'd rather I didn't have to,' Owen shot back. 'I'll leave you to get changed.'

The End

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